William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

Tag Archive for ‘Fingers’

Pie Crust

My eldest brother has been gone a year and a half; our mother, ten years; our father, twenty-eight; our father’s mother and father, thirty-three; our mother’s father, sixty-nine; her mother, forty-two. Friends, family friends, relatives, loyal canine companions — the list is long. Teachers, schoolmates, barbers, insurance men, mechanics, storekeepers, fruit packers, janitors, farm help; doctors, dentists, accountants, farmers from the old neighborhood; grocery checkers, retired men in overalls, librarians, […]

Continue Reading →

So Strange to Me

Watching dead people on TV — it seems so strange to me that everyone we meet is image-stuffed — in love with Marilyn Monroe, or some such — cat in your lap, soft furr, purring during drug commercials — and didn’t she/he/they die of an overdose? didn’t we all, our fingers bent and dumb from texting? . [ 1820 ]

Continue Reading →

Flower, River, Plum

Of course you’re the center of the universe. You’re also a flower. A river. A plum. Bright in her hair. Adrift on the water. Secure in her fingers. Warm in her palm. What else to declare? It’s the same the other way around. . [ 1789 ]

Continue Reading →

Ancient Man

Ancient man is in me. I see his starry night. I hear him call. Feel him shiver. Wait for light. He gathers food. Seeks a hand to touch. Looks out from the precipice. Dreams his waking dream. A few ripe berries. Finger stains. Computer keys. . [ 1786 ]

Continue Reading →

Reunion

As my fingertips on one hand traced the lines of the open palm of the other, I suddenly recognized them both as old childhood friends. It felt like years since I’d seen them. I held them up. They looked at each other, then at me. There were many things I could have asked them, but they seemed so sensitive and shy, I only nodded and kept silent, thinking, Perhaps another […]

Continue Reading →

A Letter to the Boys

Yesterday afternoon I cleared the driveway of snow with one of the old manure shovels my father and grandfather used on the farm during the Great Depression and after the Second World War, and which we continued to use in later years, and which now reside, along with several other tools from that earlier time, in an old barrel in the little shed behind the house. While I was out, […]

Continue Reading →

The Interview

Illuminated by my faithful dragonfly lamp, a tiny insect just flew by, then disappeared into the dark regions of the desk behind the computer screen. Each of us, engaged in the doings of our lives. There are days I remember, from morning to night, such seemingly forgettable, unimportant things. I think this will be one of them. For how can I be sure that this will not be the last […]

Continue Reading →

Canvas 990 — The Finger Sketches

We are the only beings intelligent enough to drug ourselves, poison our food, wear synthetic shoes, stay indoors, and breathe foul, recycled air. Poor birds! Poor animals! Poor dumb creatures everywhere! March 22, 2021 Canvas 990 August 6, 2017 . The Finger Sketches The finger sketches. The thumb hums along. Suddenly the thumb stops. What is wrong? The finger stretches. Is it the palm? The breath catches. The mind fetches. […]

Continue Reading →